


May 21st

by Moransroar



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Dogs, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 21:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6923422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moransroar/pseuds/Moransroar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim has noticed just how much Sebastian is struggling with his PTSD, even though he tries to hide it.<br/>But he's clever, and he has the perfect sollution.</p><p>Birthday fic for my beautiful friend Obe. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	May 21st

Jim has been acting strangely. All week, actually. Come to think of it, he’s been acting weird for about a month or so, starting from a conversation we had about… Christmas, I think it was. But Christmas is still a long way away so I’m very sure it has nothing to do with that. It’s not the kind of unpleasant strange that he is when he’s been working on a complicated plan for a while. No, it is the kind of strange that makes you curious as to what’s on his mind. What is he thinking about? He’s got something up his sleeve, that’s all I know. And my gut feeling tells me it’s got something to do with me. And specifically; my birthday.

But the month goes by as it normally does, the weather changes every other day, and the sun comes up in the morning and goes down in the evening. There’s nothing unfamiliar about it. Except maybe that it’s been a lot warmer than the previous years. Which, unfortunately for me, usually means I come home soaked through after a long day’s work because my equipment just won’t always allow the shorts and shirts I want to be wearing.

Though halfway through May Jim starts acting the way he does when he has a secret. You would think I’d have gotten used to it by now because he is like that half of the time. Always sneaking around behind my back, making plans without me knowing, striking deals in my absence. It’s fine, because that’s how things were before Jim hired me. He’d probably used to that. I don’t blame him, of course not. But it worries me sometimes, you know? You never know what he’s going to be doing unless he straight up tells you. And though I should have known what was happening by then, I was gloriously oblivious to what he was arranging. Jim probably had a laugh because of it, too.

Nevertheless, I did my job. I killed the men I was supposed to kill, trained the newbies, played bodyguard. Nothing new there either. It was towards the end of the month when I was starting to feel the increasing tension between Jim and myself. He was getting more and more secluded because I know he had trouble keeping secrets from me when he knows that I know he’s doing _something_. He gets a little quiet when the day is nearing on which he’s going to reveal the secret. Not that he’s not quiet on any other day, but it’s not the quiet that rules the house when he’s working or thinking. No. He does it because he might spill the beans once he opens his mouth. Jim is the master of secrecy, and yet the bloke can’t keep things a secret from me forever. At least it tells me it’s something he’s excited about. Something that is still supposed to happen. Maybe it’s not related to our line of work for a change.

That day I wake up like I do every morning. I hover my hand over the alarm and press snooze. It’ll allow me five more minutes. Or, Jim will. Last time I dared press snooze a second time I got kicked out of the bed and the bruise that caused lasted for days. Though I suppose I had a very important client I needed to see to that day. Anyway, my alarm silences, and I turn to snake my arm around Jim’s waist. He wakes with an intake of breath and settles against my chest. Honestly, like this, five minutes aren’t enough by far. I could do with at least an hour of this sort of thing. Soft, sleepy Jim is an amazing Jim.

Once I’ve had my fill of that and my second alarm goes I roll out of bed, go into the kitchen to get the kettle going and make toast, and eat while I plate up something for Jim. Normally this is where he’d step into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and settling at the dinner table. But Jim isn’t there that morning so I assume he must be sleeping in a little bit. Good for him. Last night was a late one. So I bring the plate with his food and his mug with coffee into the bedroom and leave it on the bedside table while I get dressed for the day. One target at 7, a meeting with the staff at 8:30, a quick lunch break at 11, picking up a shipment for a client two hours later and then at 4 another target. I should be able to make it home by five. It’s a quiet day, not a lot of action, and yet when I’m putting on my trousers I already wish for it to be over so I can go back to bed.

One thing I didn’t expect of that day was for it to actually give me energy. Despite my nightmares last night, I feel energetic and awake. I could do a few more chores if only Jim had some for me. But as it were, I make my way home by the end of the day and consider what my options are. Jim said he had something to do around supper so I won’t have to get food ready for another two hours. Maybe I can convince Jim to order takeaway. As I near our flat I decide it’s a nice enough day to spend some more of it outside after being indoors for the majority of the day. I can catch the last rays of sunshine before the sun sinks behind the tall buildings of the city if I hurry.

My keys turn in the lock, and when I open the door there’s this distinct smell that I just somehow cannot seem to place. It’s alarming at first, but then I remember. It reminds me of that time I came home to the stench of cat urine and tins of processed meat and found Jim in our bedroom, spread out like a starfish on the bed, covered in black kittens. The memory makes me smile as I drop my bag to the floor and close the door behind me.

“Jim?” I call into the hallway, but I get no response so I take a few steps. I know that he’s home because his coat is on the rack and his shoes have taken their place beneath it, standing perfectly. So he’s got to be in, but I don’t hear him. Maybe he’s still asleep. That is impossible, though I tell myself that he might just be taking a nap. When I’m shrugging out of my coat I can hear him call a greeting from the living room just beyond the door. And so I reply.

“I think I’m gonna go for a run,” I say.

“Oh,” Jim calls from the sitting room, “Can you take someone with you for me, then?”

I narrow my eyes. “Someone?” That’s when I’ve hung up my coat and peek my head around the corner. At first, my eyes settle on Jim’s grin, but then they lower to an obviously enthusiastic German Shepherd. What the fuck? Jim bought a dog? He can’t be dog sitting. He wouldn’t do that. I’m not even sure whether Jim likes these animals or not. He likes cats.

“You bought a security dog?” IS my first reaction. But Jim rolls his eyes.

“No, silly. I bought _you_ a _therapy dog_.”

I blink for a moment or two because at first I just don’t get it. What would I need a service dog for? As if Jim can read my mind, he answers that question for me.

“For your PTSD.”

I blink again. God, I must look stupid to Jim, but I’m really just trying to evaluate the situation. Trying to think of something to say. Should I thank him? What did I do to deserve this?

“I’m sure there’s someone else out there who needs it more than me,” I say quietly, looking at the dog again. It looks back at me with a kind of patience that I can’t remember I’ve ever seen in any other dog.

My dad used to have dogs. In a compound at the front of the estate. They were mean, vile creatures, barking to everyone who even so much as looked their way. I never liked those dogs. I don’t even know if they had names or not, so I’m sure that gives a decent idea of what they were like. No house pets, that’s for sure. I still have a bite mark on my arm from that time that one of them had dug its way through the dirt to get out. But this dog… it looks friendly, I suppose. But that’s what they’re trained for, isn’t it?

Jim starts talking and gets my attention. The dog still hasn’t moved despite the eager wagging of its tail.

“You have nightmares every other night, some of which wake you up drenched in sweat, others that make you so delirious you try to fight me off even if I’m _asleep_. We haven’t watched fireworks in years because the flashes and the bangs set you off. Screeching tires make you shudder and not because you can’t stand the sound. Your hands tremble when you’re the least amount stressed which really makes you a shit shot at times. I know that you think I don’t see it when you wince every time someone fires a shot. But I do. You are _always_ on edge around people with guns, peculiar clothing, suspicious bags, accessories, hairdos-“

“Alright, alright I get it!”

The dog gives a soft whine. I take a deep breath and swallow once, twice.

“And that’s not even half of it,” Jim adds softly, and there’s something about that tone that makes me realise that he’s right. There is a lot wrong with me. After the army, I’ve been…different. They say the military changes a man and it really does. I can still function like a normal human being most of the time, but things – usually unexpected and seemingly insignificant – can make me tick. And Jim getting him the dog means that he knows, and he cares, he worries.

I like that about him.

I consider the dog again.

“Does it have a name?”

Jim gives a nod and when he says the animal’s name its ears shift and it looks possibly more excited than it already does. It’s sort of endearing, actually.

“Kaiser,” Jim says.

“Kaiser,” I repeat.

The dog stands suddenly and comes to greet me. It’s like I’ve said the magic word that brought him to life. He nuzzles my hand and sniffs my crotch and I feel a little awkward because of it but I know he’s not going to hurt me. I ruffle his ears and he only grows more friendly with me, though he stays gentle and that surprises me.

I’m just assuming it’s a he, here. I don’t actually know.

“Kaiser, sit,” Jim gives the sturdy command and the animal sits immediately. I can’t help but wonder if he’s had a say in the dog’s training. Maybe he’s known the animal for longer. Why else would Kaiser listen so well to Jim? I look up at the man across from me and for the first time since I walked in that door I smile.

“So…what did I do to deserve this?”

Apparently the question I ask is one Jim didn’t expect because he looks at me like I just solved Enigma all by myself.

“Sebastian… It’s your birthday.”

May. May 19th was two days ago. That’s when we concluded the Schubel job where we made a bloody fortune. So that means that today is…

“May 21st. Oh.” I’m quiet for a moment. “Thank you, Jim.”

Then Jim steps in and wraps his arms around me and he kisses me and I kiss him. Kaiser stands by our feet, waiting patiently to be properly greeted. I think that maybe this won’t even be so bad. I used to like dogs, I used to like all animals. And I’ve seen the dogs that helped soldiers in the barracks and the medical tents overseas. They worked miracles. Actual miracles. I really think these dogs are underestimated. I can’t say that Kaiser is going to be able to help _me_ , because hell I’m no psychic, but I feel like he’s going to be a nice addition to the family. He’s a calming presence.

We move to the sofa and I want to invite Kaiser on there too so I look to Jim and he _nods_. He nods! I get the chance to get acquainted with the dog while Jim disappears into the kitchen and comes back with a small cake. Vanilla sponge. We cut it up and Kaiser gets a tiny lick of the cream between layers. Kaiser settles beside us as we eat, he follows me into the bathroom when I go to brush my teeth that night, and goes to lie in his basket in our shared bedroom when we head to bed.

 When Jim and I lay in each other’s arms, sweat cooling, I look at our dog. He’s asleep, or he pretends to be, and he looks so peaceful that I find myself falling for the young dog’s innocence. Maybe this is a good thing. I like to think that it is, but we’ll have to see.

I sleep that night and when our bed shakes with a nightmare of mine that almost sends Jim flying, he wakes me. Kaiser, not Jim. I’m terrified for the first few seconds but his nose is in my face and the weight of his paws on the bed grounds me somehow. Jim is awake but I’m already calming down. I pet Kaiser, wrap my arms around his neck, and he just sits there, waiting. He’s so patient. He’s so calm. It had a good effect on me and when I’m ready to go back to sleep again I allow him to sleep at my feet.

The next night, I let him sleep on the bed again.

And the night after.

And the night after.

And I decide, on the fourth night, when I settle against the pillow and Jim cuddles into my left side and Kaiser curls up on my right, that this isn’t half bad.

This is actually, really quite good.


End file.
